


Empty (Larry Stylinson AU)

by iceheart104



Category: Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, F/M, M/M, Roommates, WIP, Zayn Malik & Louis Tomlinson Friendship, depression tw, this fic is kind of depressing all around, unhealthy louis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 00:53:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4543905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iceheart104/pseuds/iceheart104
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis has been Zayn's roommate for a while. Louis isn't exactly sure how long. Time has lost its meaning. </p>
<p>Friends have turned to caretakers and memories are on replay, and Louis has begun living a life inside and yet completely unattached from his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has a lot of trigger warnings to just beware. I should include them at the beginning of each chapter in the notes but just be aware.   
> For the Prologue, major character death warning, right off the bat.

PROLOGUE

Every day was exactly the same. 

You’d think that they would get better, that they could get better. But nothing in my life improved. I still sat in the hallway and stared at the door. I sat there for hours, refusing to move, not sure if I could move. I didn’t try. If Zayn hadn’t moved in with me, I’m sure I would’ve starved to death. At least something to death.

There was something about it. The sadness. I didn’t want it, but I needed it. Zayn says I’m depressed. I don’t want to find out if he’s right. He wants me to go to counseling, but I haven’t left the house since the hospital. That was over a year ago.

It was cold, everything was cold. I didn’t want to move on. No, that may not have been true, but I couldn’t tell the difference. As far as I was concerned, my life was over. I had no intentions of leaving my house, of doing anything, of moving on, of being happy. It was all a distant fantasy that I had at one point and lost. It mattered to me, but it was impossible, and in my state… it didn’t matter.

December seventeenth was the same as any other day, as far as I was concerned. I sat against the white wall, the rough pattern pressing into my back. He had always used to make fun of whoever plastered the walls, and we’d search for patterns in the walls, we’d search for shapes, animals, and people. It was like searching the clouds on a nice day. 

That wasn’t the focus of my intent staring now. Instead, I stared at the door in front of me. It was plain and white, much like the other doors in the house. However, it hadn’t been opened in over a year. I made Zayn shut it before I set foot in the house. I was afraid, I was so afraid. I couldn’t face it. Even now, I couldn’t go into detail of what had happened that night, I couldn’t handle it. I tried to shut out what I needed to, but nothing would help get me over it.

Nothing would push me past the fact that the love of my life, Harry Edward Styles, was… dead.


	2. P-1

CHAPTER ONE

December seventeenth.

It was the same as every other day, there was nothing that stood apart. If there was, I didn’t notice. 

I sat against the wall and stared at the door. It was white and plain, it was basically the same as every other door in the house to the untrained eye. My eyes were trained.

That door had not been opened in over a year. Not that by looking at it, you could tell. In fact, I hoped that if someone did open the door, it would look as if it had been used this whole time. I hoped it was just as beautiful as we had left it.

I couldn’t think of it though. I couldn’t deal with thinking about it in detail. I had to decide that all the in depth thinking and feeling was left for the first few weeks, and that I could never do it again. That was permanent; I could never go back to that place. 

By now, Zayn knew to leave me alone while I was… in my own space of mind. He had to drag me out of it every once in a while… but for the most part he let me be. I think he was expecting me to start to improve. I couldn’t meet his expectations, though. I didn’t think I would ever improve.

I never cared what the time was, I never cared what was going on in the world, I had no reason to. Zayn was there, he was my best friend. He worked, he supported us, he made dinner or brought some home, he cleaned the house and he didn’t stay out late. He was like my mom, but he was someone who cared unconditionally and gave me space. I would say I loved the guy, but I fear I no longer know how to love.

He sacrificed his relationship with his fiancé Perrie to help me. Although they’re still in love, although they’re not officially broken up, they only see each other a few times a week and their plans for marriage have been put off. I wouldn’t know this if I didn’t care about him, his happiness, them. I felt bad that I was the cause of their relationship problems, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything… I said I cared, but honestly most of the time I was indifferent towards Perrie. I was indifferent towards most of the world. If I let my emotions out of check, I would hate it all. I tried to be indifferent towards love, but there was a part of me that hated it. There was a part of me that longed for it, and there was a part of me that missed it. Still, I knew it would never come, and if it existed, it wasn’t for me. Harry… Harry was the only love of my life. I loved him, and he faded. He was gone. Now he was fading from me completely. It was a horrible pain in me, in my chest, in my head, in my heart, in my soul. I could never shake the fact that Harry was ripped from my life, never to return.

Now, that’s not what I thought as I stared at the door. I kept silent, my head kept silent. I sat still and simply stared. I saw nothing. I just stared, because I couldn’t do anything else. Never, never could I do anything else. 

Day in, day out, that was my job, to stare. I sat in the same place, every day. My routine mostly consisted of staring. It felt tied to my lifeline, like the entire world would collapse if I didn’t do it. Zayn shook me out of my daze for dinner every day. Afterwards, I slept in a bed that wasn’t mine, and Zayn got me up the next morning for breakfast. Then I sat and stared. Most of the time, Zayn let me be throughout the entire day until dinner. Every once in a while, he would pull me out before dinner – sometimes it was for lunch, but sometimes it was to talk. He wants me to talk to a professional, but I don’t want to talk to anyone. I don’t like talking to people. The only person I ever want to talk to is Zayn, and often I don’t even want to talk to him. 

December seventeenth, I sat against the wall. At the time, I didn’t know it was December seventeenth. In fact, I didn’t even know it was December. I vaguely knew it was winter, as somewhere above my head to the right was the heater vent and warm air drifted down to me during the day, so I knew it must’ve been cold outside opposed to summer. I sat there, swimming in a fuzzy sweater that used to fit me well and black sweats that were so old I didn’t even remember how I’d gotten them. I wasn’t currently aware of my clothes, either, but soon I would be. ‘Soon’ was actually subjective, as I never bothered to glance at a clock long enough to figure out what the time was, and as long as it was the same day, I qualified it as soon. 

“Louis?” a soft voice called. I glanced absently up at Zayn. I didn’t feel hungry enough for it to be dinner yet. I tried to bring myself to realize the light difference. It still looked light from the windows in the house. I looked back up to Zayn as expectantly as I could. “Louis, I think it’s time for a shower.” He nearly whispered. I didn’t need him to speak any louder; there never was any noise in the house anyway. 

“Okay.” I said. I was halfway surprised at how grainy my voice sounded and felt. Zayn walked up to me and sat down beside me. We sat there for a few minutes in silence. I stared at the pattern of paint on his jeans. I tried to call back to my brain why there was paint on his jeans. I inhaled and smelled something familiar. Spray paint, that was it. Zayn was an artist. He must’ve been spray painting in the garage. He was wearing his artist clothes. It either had to be a weekend or he had a day off. I didn’t really care to find out.

Eventually, Zayn stood up and reached down to help me up. I stood on shaky legs. There wasn’t really any muscle left in them. I didn’t do anything with my body but feed it and walk from my room to the kitchen, from the kitchen to the hallway, from the hallway to the kitchen, and then the kitchen to the bedroom. There wasn’t much other exercise going on in my life. 

I walked uncertainly through the house to where Zayn led me to the bathroom. We used separate bathrooms for showering and everything else – we just had two bathrooms and didn’t really have a use for two, so it evolved into that. 

Halfway through the living room (which separated the hallway where I sat, and Zayn’s room and the shower bathroom horizontally compared to the entryway, which the living room separated from the kitchen and TV room vertically) I stumbled and ended up collapsing. Zayn had his hands gripped under my arms, but he hovered with my knees only an inch above the ground, and I let my head fall so my chin bumped my chest. I just sighed, not making an effort to push myself up because I knew that in the position I was in, I wasn’t strong enough to get up. Zayn pulled me up and carried me bridal style the rest of the way, I just pulled myself close to him, wanting to feel secure again.

Once Zayn stepped into the spacious bathroom – half white tile and half carpet, two sinks, a jet tub and a clear shower curtain – he set me down against the wooden sink and started the bath.

In many ways, Zayn was like my brother. We didn’t have any feelings towards each other in a romantic way, but he cared unconditionally for me and we weren’t exactly shy about stuff. He cared for me and I wasn’t scared of him knowing or seeing anything of me, because he knows everything. Without him, I never would’ve gotten through my dark point.

Therefore, it wasn’t awkward when he started my bath and helped me out of all my clothes. 

Once the water was warm (he knew it couldn’t be hot, it needed to be lukewarm, maybe a bit warmer or cooler depending on the weather), he supported me as I stood and helped me out of the sweater. Like I said, I used to fit in it well. Now, it’s much too big for me because of my poor diet. I lost my muscle and most of the fat that used to protect me. I didn’t really care, but I knew it made Zayn sad to see me in a poor physical (and quite obviously mental and emotional) state. 

He tossed the dark, multi colored sweater to the floor. It looked used, oily and kind of gross. I gripped Zayn’s bicep as I tugged down the sweats and let them crumple to the floor. He kicked them over to the sweater as I leaned on his forearm and shoved my boxers down to the floor. Zayn then half carried me and I half walked to the tub. I sank slowly to the bottom and pulled my knees up to my chest, feeling small and insignificant next to Zayn’s strong build. I sighed, trying to sink farther into the bath.

It didn’t take too long, since Zayn basically washed me like I was a child, like I couldn’t do it myself. I didn’t mind. If Zayn didn’t think of these things, I probably wouldn’t have taken a shower since before the accident. I just didn’t see the point of bathing or humans or food or anything, really.

We didn’t really talk. He shaved my face in the tub as well. That was the only time I ever shaved. Not that I really noticed my facial hair or lack of it, but I guessed that Zayn did. Once I was clean, he drained the bath, helped me dry off and left me alone with a pile of fresh clothes. I think he hoped I’d do something more, something with my hair or just bring a bit of life back to me but I had nothing left to give. The end of life took it all from me.

Zayn was waiting for me on the couch. I planned on just sitting back down at the wall, but his expectant look told me different.

“I made lunch.” Zayn said. I just nodded and walked to the kitchen. The table was set with a chicken salad and some kind of orange colored juice. I sat down in my usual spot and waited until Zayn sat down next to me.

“It’s nectarine pineapple juice. Perrie said it was good.” Zayn made a quick explanation of the juice, since usually it was water. He occasionally tried to get me to drink a beer but I refused. That wasn’t for the current Louis. That was for the old one, the one before tragedy struck.


	3. M-1

CHAPTER TWO

_“Hey, hey you.” A voice said, too loudly for a Saturday morning. I grumbled in response. “You, hey you.” It pestered me again._

_“No…” I muttered, trying to push off the finger poking me in the side of my face._

_“Yes, you!” it exclaimed._

_“No.” I said, turning my face so he wouldn’t see the grin growing to stretch across my face._

_“Yes. Don’t play those games with me.” The voice said, fake sternly._

_“Eh.” Was my only reply, more of a huff than much else._

_“I made pancakes…” the voice drew out, trying to lure me out of my fake sleep._

_“Really?” I asked, turning to look up at a mess of chocolate curls and green eyes._

_“Uh, no. But hey, I could!” Harry replied, a faint blush covering his milky cheeks._

_“Oh, God, Harry.” I said, turning to let my face fall back into the pillow._

_“Aww, c’mon. You’re up!” Harry said, and I could hear the smile on his goofy face._

_“Damn you,” I said, my voice muffled by the pillow. I turned my head to him. “You’re too convincing for your own good.”_

_“Well it does come in handy.” Harry winked, and half jumped off the bed from where he’d been positioned on his knees. The springs responded with distressed creaking and the bed dipped like I was about to be tipped off. I grunted and rolled towards the edge of the bed, staring up at Harry._

_“C’mon. Let’s go make breakfast!” he grinned and tugged at my hands. I didn’t budge. “Louis…” he tried, green eyes begging._

_“First kiss me, you fool.” I taunted, closing my eyes and smiling. I expected an immediate kiss on the lips but I didn’t feel him and for a moment I almost opened my eyes in worry, but suddenly his hands were on my hips and his chest against mine, his crotch pressing into my own. Before I knew how to react, his lips met mine and he kissed me hard. In a few moments, his tongue slipped into my mouth. I completely forgot about breakfast and grinded my hips up into his. I could feel his smile and I opened my eyes to stare into his. I trailed my hands down his back._

_“Babe…” I whispered, a blush in my cheeks because I could feel me pressed against his thigh._

_“Breakfast time.” He winked. At first I thought he was teasing me, but suddenly the friction was gone and I heard the door open._

_“Wha –“ I gasped, pushing myself up off the bed. “He better have something good planned.” I grumbled under my breath, trying to get my dick from sticking straight out of my sweats._

_I turned left down the hall, and followed Harry’s noise to the kitchen. He was pulling out pans and ingredients from the cabinets and refrigerator._

_“Pull out the chocolate chips, will you?” Harry asked innocently, arranging what he had out on the counter next to the stove. I wandered over to the cupboard and took down the clear plastic box full of chocolate, still trying to keep my head under control as Harry unknowingly drove me insane with just standing there working on breakfast._

_“That’s not the only thing I could be pulling out…” I muttered, too quiet for Harry to make out._

_“What?” Harry’s sweet voice sounded._

_“Nothing.” I said, my quiet grin on my face as I tossed the chocolate next to his ingredients and leaned against the counter._

_Harry worked diligently; he always had a knack for making the best pancakes, far beyond what’s able to be described. I loved watching him work, as I’m sure he was very aware. The way his short boxer-briefs clung to his bum, the arches of his back as he bent over the stove and mixed ingredients, the way his tattoos stretched across him in every place. He was so beautiful, and he was all mine. I sighed in contentment, forgetting I wasn’t just watching a video of all my hopes and dreams._

_“What?” Harry asked, turning to look at me. I just smiled at him, taking in the beauty of, simply, him. His swallow tattoos on his chest, his butterfly on his abdomen, his odd little leaves wreathing out just above his brief-line. He surveyed me as well, and smiling, he walked towards me. Pancake batter sizzled on the griddle behind him, but he didn’t seem to notice anything but me. He pulled me into his arms, his face pressed into my hair, and I hummed._

_“You look lovely in those sweats and tee, babe. I love your fringe down.” He murmured, pressing kisses into my hair. I wrapped my arms around his waist and didn’t speak, for fear the moment would shatter. I loved Harry with every fibre of my being. He was everything to me._

_“But you know, babe,” Harry began again, “those sweats look even better tented after I’ve teased you.” He whispered right against my ear, his warm breath tickling the hair on my head and the shell of my ear.  
I shivered as he chuckled and pulled away to flip the pancakes, and of course my sweats were tented once again. _

_I calmed myself down by the time that Harry finished the pancakes (he had no filter on the amount he made, every time he cooked, we had a week’s worth of leftovers), and we seated ourselves at our little table, across from each other. We could fit up to five people around the table if we really tried, but it was cramped – luckily we didn’t do a whole lot of group entertainment. It was usually just the two of us, eating huge meals and giggling like the idiots we are._

_“Like your pancakes, babe?” Harry asked, taking another bite and looking at me with a faint smile on his face._

_“I feel like that’s a loaded question.” I replied. Harry full out laughed at me, and I just grinned, finishing the pancakes on my plate._

_“Well look at that, we have three years’ worth of pancakes leftover.” I groaned, staring around our kitchen._

_“And three years’ worth of a mess to clean up.” Harry replied, with a fake solemn look on his face._

_“Oh, it’s not that bad, but we’d better start clearing out room in the fridge for the fifteen billion pancakes we have to refrigerate.” I said, sighing and staring down at my dirty plate. Harry stood up and walked over to the counter. I started scraping bits of food towards me, figuring I could eat more, when Harry was suddenly behind me, nuzzling his face in my hair._

_“Are you sure it isn’t that bad?” he murmured, and then something wet and cold ran down my back._

_“Haz!” I shrieked, bucking backwards and smooshing the pancake batter in between my shirt and back, tripping over my feet as I tried to stand up. Harry caught me with one arm and put the bowl over my head with the other, laughing maniacally the whole time._

_“Oh my god, Harold Edward Styles, I am going to murder you.” I growled, throwing the bowl off my head and sprinting towards the counter, grabbing the little-over-half-empty flour bag. He started sidestepping towards me with a crazy grin on his face, like a hungry lion. He had the mane for it._

_I stared him down (like you would do with any lion you met in the wild landscape of your kitchen) and slowly we circled around until I was near the entrance to the kitchen and he was across from me by the table. I had a slight smile on my face now, I was trying my absolute hardest to keep from giggling. Then, as surprisingly and fast as I could, I opened the bag of flour and shook it all over him._

_“Ahh!” he screeched, shaking his hair and arms like he was being attacked by little bugs. “I’ve been hit! Man down! Man down!” he stumbled exaggeratedly back towards the counter, tripping over his feet and gripping the countertop to keep himself off the floor. I giggled and walked over to him, mussing up his curls, and sending flour everywhere._

_“Now I’ll have dandruff forever!” Harry complained, grinning, his face still powdered in white. I just laughed and then he got his revenge. He suddenly stood up and cracked two eggs over my head, wet dripping into my hair and onto my shoulders._

_“No! Oh you are SO going to pay for that!” I screamed, grabbing the milk carton and splashing half of what was left onto his chest._

_“Oh my god, cold, cold, cold!” he danced around the kitchen like the fairy princess he was, singing about how he was going to freeze into a milk-sicle. I don’t think I had laughed that hard, possibly ever._

_“You’re gonna get it, you’re gonna get it Tommo, you are…” he mumbled, trailing off. He leaned against the sink and breathed slightly heavily. I stared at him like there was no one else in the world. And I can’t say I was mad when he ran towards me and picked me up in a bear hug, covering me in milk and flour, and spun me around the kitchen. I screamed in laughter, twirling around in his arms, I was as happy as possible, free as I’ve ever been, and I couldn’t imagine anywhere else I’d rather be._

_When Harry set me down, he was all dimples and grins, trapping my face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs in my light stubble, before he kissed me with all the world’s love, and that’s the only way I knew how to explain it._

_He was my own heaven._


End file.
